


Too Much

by belovedmuerto



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, empath!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-05
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-07 12:30:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/748524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belovedmuerto/pseuds/belovedmuerto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, it's too much for John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Much

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically too short to require beta reading, but PrettyArbitrary gave it a quick once over for me.

Sometimes, it's too much. 

John knows that regular people have days like this too. Intellectually, he understands that everyone has bad days, everyone feels overwhelmed sometimes; it's a part of life, a part of being an adult. It’s the part no one ever tells kids about, because it’s the shitty part of being an adult. He wonders though, if regular people feel _this_ overwhelmed on those days. He knows that they don’t feel it in the same ways he does, intellectually, because they aren’t empathic like he is. Do they feel as though they're drowning in the minutiae? Like they're close to losing themselves in the noise of everyone else? 

He doesn't know how it works for other people, but he hopes it doesn’t hit them like this, because he feels like he’s going insane. He feels like his head is about to burst open and spew all the little bugs of other people’s emotions all over the room, where they’ll turn on him and eat him from the outside in, instead of the inside out like they are now. John barely makes it in the door before the trembling he hasn't been able to quell turns into dry sobs, wracking his body so hard it's all he can do to make it up the stairs and to the sofa. He collapses in a heap on it, curls in on himself as well as he’s able, covering his head with his arms, scraped raw and burning with the emotions of everyone in the NW1 postcode.

If anyone else is around, he doesn't know it. He’s given up awareness of his surroundings in his bid to maintain his sanity. He is lost, adrift on the sea of London, made up of the ups and downs of her people, every little emotion that courses through their veins, the waves of it cresting over his head repeatedly, one after another til he can't draw a full breath around it.

John loses all sense of time, huddled on the life raft of the sofa. Being in the flat affords some small respite; the safety and haven of home is a barrier, but a weak one. It doesn't stop the waves, it only calms them a tiny bit, allows him that life raft so he doesn't have to tread water, so he doesn’t drown within minutes of being swamped by it.

It isn't enough. Nothing is, until--

Sherlock.

Sherlock is there, with his cool exterior and burning mind, with his prickly emotions that soothe like a warm blanket.

Physically, Sherlock is there as well, murmuring in John's ear, curling around him like a six foot pointy, bony blanket.

Sherlock wraps John in Sherlock, draws him closer and closer, until he blots out the world. Until there's no room for anything except Sherlock. All of his senses are swamped with Sherlock, smothered with him. All he smells is the familiar chemical and mystery smell of him, the smell of silk warmed against skin, strong enough that he tastes it as well. It tastes like home. All he sees behind his closed eyes is Sherlock, all he feels is the silk of his shirt and beneath that, his steady heartbeat. The only sound in the world is Sherlock's voice, whispering in his ear, some language John doesn't understand. He doesn't need to, though, not right now.

John takes a deep, shuddering breath, and smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a comment PrettyArbitrary made on one of the other upcoming fics that I'm working on right now. Basically, she said that Sherlock must love to swamp John with Sherlock. And... yeah. Basically.


End file.
